Christmas in My Soul
by shywr1ter
Summary: S1,early ML. Christmas Eve.


**Disclaimers:** Characters courtesy of Dark Angel; title and lyrics from song of the same name by Laura Nyro. No profits made.

**A/N:** For purposes of this fic, I've set Max and Logan's first December 24th early in the game, around the time of Flushed or C.R.E.A.M. Although in the original story, the first posting here in FFN didn't contain the verses from Laura Nyro's _Christmas in My Soul _between story sections, but as others seems to post with lyrics around here, I decided to add them back in. _  
_

**MANY THANKS** and wishes for holiday cheer to Intodust, for editing and entertainment...

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

**Christmas in my Soul**

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

_I love my country as it dies  
In war and pain before my eyes  
I walk the streets where disrespect has been  
The sins of politics; the politics of sin  
The heartlessness that darkens my soul  
On Christmas._

_... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...Christmas in my soul... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ..._

Max sped along the darkened streets of Seattle on her Ninja, a long Christmas Eve on her bicycle for Jam Pony finally past, as the last of the Christmas rushes were delivered and their couriers scattered to the streets, on the way to home and family and friends...

All around her, all day, all _month_, as she'd done for many years now, she'd observed the good and bad of Christmas as a neutral spectator, the mystical, nebulous magic of the season eluding her. She saw generosity and avarice, charity and opportunism; she saw kinder, more patient people among those more desperate than ever with the reminder of what had been lost. She could watch, but she had never touched; she'd never been invited in, not really: vague offers for dinner or trinkets tied up in bows were extended occasionally to the girl she appeared to be... but 452 hadn't been invited. No one knew _that_ part of her was still there, outside, looking in. Or... no one, other than Logan...

As with so many things these days she had thought to look to Logan, the only one in her little world who knew her for who and what she was, for explanation and interpretation. But in this, he was cool, detached, as if the days bore no special significance, and so the questions she had died on her lips before she voiced them. Until she could ask... until the real Max was invited in... she'd be the outsider, and Christmas never really a part of her.

She curled down over her bike and sped up along a straight, deserted street to Logan's place. He'd said something about a family dinner for this evening and she had asked to use his computer while he was gone. He agreed readily, offering nothing more about the dinner and asking her nothing about her Christmas plans. _Just another non-observer, then, _Max thought, absently... but somehow, deep down, she didn't believe it...

_... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...Christmas in my soul... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ..._

_Black panther brothers bound in jail  
Chicago seven and the justice scale  
Homeless Indian on Manhattan Isle  
All God's sons have gone to trial  
And all God's love is out of style  
On Christmas.  
_

_... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...Christmas in my soul... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...__  
_

In the quiet of the otherwise empty penthouse, Logan sat at the computer, its colored glow the only light in the darkening room. As the time ticked away he made no effort to leave his work, despite the increasing difficulty presented by the random thoughts and memories nudging him for his attention... 6:55... 7:10... 7:27... 7:40... and the phone at Logan's elbow rang.

Picking it up, he saw the expected number and sighed. "Hello?" he offered.

"Junior, you're late." The increasing, daily alcohol consumption left Jonas' voice and disposition even rougher than usual; clearly he already had a good start on this evening's refreshments. "It's damned inconsiderate of you, and we're not going to keep thirty people waiting around for you to make an appearance..."

"Can't make it, Jonas, sorry... but thanks." Logan smoothly delivered the line he'd rehearsed for the past thirty minutes, silently, knowing it would be needed.

"Bullshit. Get your ass over here now; there are important clients who knew your father..."

"Sorry. Can't do it." _Can't do it._ The plain, unvarnished truth, oddly...

His uncle's voice in response was a boozy snarl. "You're not going to make me tell your aunt that the Cales' own Tiny Tim won't be coming to Christmas dinner..."

...a surprising blow, even from Jonas... and the only thing Logan could manage in response at the time was to slowly, silently depress the button on the phone, severing the connection...

_... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...Christmas in my soul... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...  
_

Slipping inside the darkened penthouse, Max frowned to hear the sounds of movement back in Logan's computer room, and she paused, listening carefully. The place that should have been deserted for the evening most definitely had signs of occupation. She took a step or two down the hall, cautiously... but when she heard the keyboard come back to life in a familiar ballet of clicking keys, she relaxed slightly. The master of the house was home, after all.

Letting her boot heels sound now on the wooden floors to avoid startling him too badly, she rounded the room's divider screen corner and saw the expected spiky hair and monitor light glinting off glasses as Logan frowned toward the screen, oblivious in his work. Surprised at the sudden comfort she felt with the familiarity of the image, Max pushed it away and tried a light greeting. "Hey. You're here." She came in further to perch at the corner of his table. "I thought you were going to your aunt and uncle's for dinner."

"Oh, yeah..." He shook his head, vaguely, ignoring her tacit question, and managed to pull his eyes away from the screen, to hers. "Hey, Max. What's up?" He paused a brief moment, clearly not expecting her. "Did you need something?"

"Just your computer, remember?" The look she gave him was a guarded question, his response sounding preoccupied. "When you said you'd be gone, I said I might come use your computer..."

"Oh, right; I'd forgotten... I'm sorry." He clearly _had_ forgotten; he seemed distracted, and Max wondered if something had happened since she'd seen him the night before to rock his usually grounded thoughts. But in the next moment he smiled, albeit raggedly, and pushed away from the monitor. "Here, make yourself at home..."

"No, look; I don't want to disrupt the fight ... I just figured you wouldn't be needing it..."

His smile settled into a more normal Logan one, and he leaned across the desk to lift his laptop and lay it atop his thighs. "I don't – I can use this. C'mon." He pivoted to snag the unused desk chair off to the side, and pulled it toward the monitor. "All yours. You can have some privacy too, if you want..."

She smirked. "Since when is there anything in my life that's private from you?"

He shrugged and looked down at his laptop as he opened it, not yet turning it on. "Just an offer." He looked back up, more centered now. "Have you gotten anything to eat yet? You must've had a crazy day at work."

"There was food there all day, even enough for a girl with a healthy appetite," she leaned back on her hand, swinging one foot idly. "And Normal actually got a sudden dose of holiday fever, and didn't make us deliver to places he knew would have closed already for the holiday. So even with the Christmas rushes we got done by about 8:00."

He glanced at his watch. "You must've come straight here from work. I thought Kendra had convinced you to go with her to her family's tonight."

"Yeah, well, I finally convinced _her_ that I was fine, and she needed to take her new boy to meet the family, not me. She wouldn't leave without promising they'd be back in town tomorrow night for some Christmas cheer." At his quiet nod, she looked at him, appraising, and tried, "it's getting kinda late for you, isn't it? When does the big Cale shindig start, anyhow?"

He glanced up guiltily, then looked away with a casual shrug, his voice too offhand. "They started at 7:00." He looked back at the monitor in his lap, and, realizing he couldn't pretend to be interested in a darkened screen, looked back up to meet her eyes. "I decided to pass..."

"You okay?" She asked, her question direct and immediate.

"Oh – yeah, sure." He looked momentarily vulnerable; _caught_, Max thought,but he smoothly shook it off and tried a smile. "Never liked Aunt Margo's coffee, anyway." He looked away again, awkwardly, idly tracing the keys of his laptop's keyboard, still not turning it on. But in the next moment he roused. "Need any help with your research?"

She rolled her eyes, and sat in the chair Logan offered. "More shopping than research. I need a new oil pump for my bike – you have so much luck finding parts on line for all your toys here, I figured I'd see if I can get more of a bargain and less of a hassle this way."

"Max... why didn't you say so?" Back in his element, Logan's smile was suddenly more relaxed and confident. "Parts, I think I can hook you up. Dunno how quickly we can get them this way, but probably faster than on the street, and definitely more reliable. Probably a bit less money, too."

"Then why are you wasting time telling me about it?" She grinned, her appreciation clear in her teasing.

Logan smirked, pulling back to the desktop keyboard to type in several lines, taking him to his connection. "Do you know the part number?" He asked, innocently. He looked back up to see eyes rolling.

"'Do I know the part number?'" Max murmured. She saw his immediate, rueful grin.

"Sorry," he chuckled. His long fingers typed in the sequence of letters and numbers she rattled off for him. "Done. With the holiday I might not hear for a day or two, but these guys can get most of anything and won't gouge you too badly."

"Thanks." She beamed. "Sorry I didn't use my particular talents for you like that, to find you a Christmas surprise as nice as an oil pump. Hey, I'll bet with everyone out at Christmas parties and church services, I could find a few untended baubles..."

"Uh, no ... but thanks." He tried feigning disapproval, but failed in his amusement. "It's the thought that counts, right?"

"My sentiments exactly."

Logan looked at the beautiful face and felt a sudden self-consciousness, acutely aware of how pleased he was to have her there, and how quickly she was able to banish the pain of Jonas' boorishness from his memory ... now feeling like a shy teenager, he tried to cover his neediness and offered, "well, if you're not hungry ... how about some coffee?"

"Sure," she nodded, and it struck him that she, too, had no where else to go... and a feeling of protectiveness came over him, entirely unbidden, as he wondered what Christmas meant to her...

"Better yet... how about some coffee, enhanced _a la_ Cale?" His smile warmed her, and she laughed.

"Even better," she agreed.

"Just like that? Untried?" He snapped off his brakes to move toward the kitchen.

"If it's one thing I've learned about you, it's to put my trust in your cooking," she laughed. At her words, he looked up to meet her eyes, merrily...

And at that moment, they each knew the trust was for far more than cooking... and that it was mutual...

_... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...Christmas in my soul... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ..._

_Red and silver on the leaves  
Fallen white snow runs softly through the trees  
Madonnas weep for wars of hell  
They blow out the candles and haunt Noel  
The missing love that rings through the world  
On Christmas.  
_

_... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...Christmas in my soul... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...  
_

Max watched as Logan buried himself in his pantry as the coffee brewed, "hmm'ing to himself as she'd heard him do at the market. He finally settled on a bottle and small canister which he brought to his work bench. "Let's see... Max, you could get us a couple mugs... and some milk."

Lifting an eyebrow, Max slipped down off the counter to get the items Logan requested. Just as she brought the milk over, she saw his eyes light with a sudden idea and even laughed a little at his sudden "Ha! One more thing..." He turned quickly and disappeared down the hall toward the front door, where, Max could hear, he seemed to be digging through the stack of mail on the entryway table. In only a moment he spun back into the kitchen, lifting his prize to the counter – a red and white spiraled candy cane. Pulling the cellophane from the candy, he snapped off the inch or so of the crook end, and handed it to Max – who happily popped it in her mouth. With that, he laid the rest on the work surface, lifted a mug – and whacked the candy cane into splinters with the base of the mug...

"Logan, what are you doing?" Max eyed the destruction. "I would have finished that, if you didn't want it..."

"It's called presentation, Max," Logan grinned. "You can bring the coffee over..." Lining up the weapon-mug with the other she'd gotten out, Logan unscrewed the clear liqueur and held it out for Max to sniff.

"Peppermint?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Peppermint schnapps," he defended. "Handy to have around, just in case." Pulling out two plates, Logan poured a small amount of the schnapps onto one, and scooped the peppermint shards onto the other. Lifting one mug up and catching her eye, he inverted the mug to dip it, mouth first, into the plate of liqueur, shake it a little, then place it onto the candy in the other. Lifting the mug again with a smile to show the now-candy encrusted rim to Max, Logan was rewarded with her brilliant smile.

"Presentation," she agreed. As she imitated his actions with the second mug, Logan poured a portion of the liqueur into the first mug, then the second as Max finished coating the rim. Logan followed the schnapps with some milk, then lifted the canister for her approval. "Chocolate, like you use for regular hot chocolate..." With a dose in each mug, he then lifted the carafe to fill the mugs the rest of the way with coffee, and stirred. Looking up to see her wide smile of anticipation, he lifted his eyebrows and asked, "...and... presentation?"

Understanding now, she scooped up the remaining peppermint candy and, diving the crumbles between her hands, she sprinkled the red and white chips across the top of each coffee. "Presentation," she sighed, happily.

_... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...Christmas in my soul... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...  
_

They sat in his living room, sipping the peppermint-mocha concoction Logan had managed, the light from the hall and kitchen their only illumination. "Back in the day... or even now, with a bit more warning... you could get whipped cream, add it to the coffee instead of milk, with more for the top, then sprinkle _that_ with peppermint," Logan remembered, his voice wistful. "Now _that_ was good..."

"Well, this is pretty fine, too," Max took another sip, paused, and considered the man across from her. "So what was it like for Logan Cale, prince among princes, growing up at Christmas? Probably all the toys in the world, and food, and parties..."

He looked at her, recognizing that Christmas might not have ever been _Christmas_ for her, and reflected that, while not what she imagined them to be, his own memories included wonder and love amid the more painful ones. He actually laughed softly, if a bit sadly, and admitted, "well, Christmas Eve was always a big formal dinner at the Cales', at my grandparents' house, while they were alive and presiding ... even then my uncle Jonas was making an ass of himself..." he trailed, suddenly aware that even so, he'd had so much more than Max, and felt guilty both for troubling her with his family dramas and, at some level, for sullying the memories of better Cales than Jonas... "Our Christmas Eve was more for the adults – the kids were there to be seen and not heard – so of course we were fidgety and disheveled before the first family photos were taken." He chuckled at the thought of getting a little bit over on Jonas, even back then. "But my parents knew that wasn't a kid's idea of Christmas, so the deal was, if I was good at Grandfather's, we went to spend Christmas day at the cabin, just us three. And Santa somehow always knew we'd be there, not at home." He smiled softly. "We'd pop popcorn in the fireplace, and make long garlands of it, with cranberries too, sometimes, to decorate the fir trees outside for the birds and squirrels. By the time I was four or five, if I was _really_ good ... we'd drive up on Christmas Eve, after dinner, and build a campfire down by the lake ... look at the stars ... even have s'mores." His eyes twinkled. At her look of surprise, he actually laughed, "you thought you'd invented them, did you?"

"No..." she protested, grudging, "besides, I would have come up with a better name."

His laughter for her was soft, his thoughts split between her company and the memory of Christmases lost to him, long ago. He continued, "we'd sit outside under the stars, like this ... hot chocolate for me ... sometimes hot buttered rum for my parents, sometimes mocha, like this..." his voice grew even quieter. "The stars were incredible, Max, away from the city lights ... back then you couldn't see any stars in town, not really; the city lights washed out all but the very brightest. But away from town, at the lake ... it was like a blanket of stars overhead, some bright, some faint, and all sorts in between..."

"You miss them..." she said, simply.

He shrugged a little, embarrassed, and pretended to not understand. "The stars?"

She didn't budge. "Your parents."

"Oh, well, yeah; sure..." He sought distance, detachment. "But it's been a while..."

Her eyes softened, understanding that the longer it had been, the harder it would have been. "How long?"

He took a beat as he considered affecting a coolness to show her that it didn't reach him anymore, but suddenly couldn't summon the dishonesty. "My dad died when I was fifteen," he explained, "my mom ... when I was thirteen." He lingered over the thought, and shrugged. "A good while ago, now." The smile he offered was sad, and bore traces of a old wound, still tender but familiar, part of the well- worn landscape.

"So what happened to the cabin?"

Logan grimaced slightly, and grudged, "technically, it's mine, but my uncle has a life estate – meaning it's his to use, for his lifetime, as long as he doesn't do anything to decrease its value ... it doesn't really transfer to me 'til he dies ... but I'm the only one with keys..."

"When was the last time you went there?" Her voice was soft.

He shook his head. "Except being set up as a safe house a couple years ago, no one has used it since my parents died." He snorted softly, a laugh without humor. "Even Jonas had the good taste to just ... leave it, as it was."

Max found herself speaking without really thinking things through first – and felt a little flicker of butterflies in her tummy as she did so. "Let's go to the cabin tomorrow. You know... for Christmas, like you used to do."

Logan looked at her, surprised; he wavered, as if he was unsure of her reasons and that they would matter, to his answer. "Max..." he began, then shook his head as if he'd decided her purpose, "look, you don't have to do this..."

"Do what? Logan, it's not like I have any Christmas traditions at all, and... it sounds kinda nice." Her eyes were warm and bright as she looked at him. "If you haven't been back on Christmas since your parents died, but still feel that way about the times you had there..." She shrugged. "Maybe it's time to restart the tradition... sort of celebrate _them_ too, ya know?"

Logan looked at the woman who'd been denied family and holidays, Santa and carols and the magic of the Christmas story, and marveled that it was through her eyes that he might learn to see a bit of Christmas again, a bit of what he'd lost along the way. "And ... you really want to go, too?" he tried.

"I really do," she smiled warmly.

His grin quirked up a bit higher. "Where could we find popcorn to string for the birds?"

"Got all we need at my place." She beamed. "Kendra went crazy buying it for the tree she put up." At his dazzling smile, she encouraged, "we have enough for six trees, easy."

"And I've got hot chocolate."

"Too bad no s'mores, though, with a fireplace _and_ a lakeside bonfire waiting to be built," she sighed, wistful at the thought. "Nothing's left open this late."

But Logan was smiling, and confessed, "gotcha covered on that one."

With a gape of delight, Max asked, amazed, "Logan! How?"

He smiled softly and shrugged, "I hadn't really thought about them in a long time, until someone mentioned them that day, and you talked about how much you liked them. When I was in the market and saw graham crackers..." his smile was suddenly self-conscious, and he played it off, "between Christmas coming, and your reminders, one thing led to another..." He paused again and laughed ruefully, "I hadn't decided how we'd do them without a fireplace, but ... I figured maybe some cold, nasty night ... it would be a nice surprise – even if we had to bake 'em."

"Logan Cale," she pronounced. "My own personal Santa Claus. S'mores," she marveled.

He wondered yet again if he could find the courage to give her the small gift he'd gotten her, the one he'd considered, rejected, considered again, and finally bought, shyly tucking it away and looking at the glittery wrapping and ribbon, every so often... "...you know..." He wondered if he could sound casual, as if this wasn't a big deal. "Since Kendra's gone ... why don't you stay here tonight? The guestroom's all set up, anyway, and it's no fun waking up alone on Christmas morning."

She dared to think he meant himself as well, happier with someone ... with _her_ ... around. Still, the old fears and mistrust brought out the wisecracks. "What kind of a Christmas do you call this?" Despite her words, her smile was warm for him, and she teased, "you don't even have a tree."

"No..." he seemed to understand, smirking at her efforts, "but I could make us one hell of a Christmas breakfast. Maybe I could even find something around here we could call Christmas dinner. Of course, it wouldn't exactly be traditional..." He paused a moment, smiling in private amusement at a sudden thought, before admitting, "a wise man once told me that if you're unhappy with the traditions bestowed on you during your lifetime, you should make some of your own."

She grinned. "Sounds like Bling," she needled.

"Yeah, it does," he nodded, looking away with his chuckle, agreeing. Then, quieting, he looked back up to her, eyes meeting hers as he confessed with a skewed, rueful smile, "...last week."

She laughed at his admission, and after a pause, considering the man before her, offered, "Nothing wrong with starting our own traditions..." The significance struck her only moments after her words were spoken, and to her dismay, she felt her cheeks warm. _But it hadn't been so bad, to suggest that we share some memories ... had it?_ she asked herself... and at his soft smile in response to her words, she blurted, "Logan, look..." She hesitated, not sure if she was asking more than she should, daring more than she wanted... but decided it was what they both needed, this Christmas. "Think we could get past the security checkpoints tonight? I want to see this sky full of stars you promised..."

After an initial look of disbelief, Logan smiled slowly, seeing she asked not just for his sake, but her own as well. "Easier getting out of town than getting in..." His smile dazzled as he considered the plan. "The cabin already has the basics... and I could throw breakfast and lunch in a box in just a few minutes."

"Faster with help?"

"Faster with help." He agreed, his voice soft.

"A real Christmas, Logan!" Max's eyes shone with a glow he wasn't sure he'd ever seen before, making her look like a child ... an angel... And at that moment he would have done anything for the ability to turn back time, to go back nineteen years, to give her the life she deserved ... to go back a mere week, to plan a Christmas for her to remember...

"I know... first time in a long time," he admitted ... and he had her to thank for it...

"First time ever" she whispered. And the look she saw in his eyes in return assured her yet again that the trust she'd placed in this man, for all things, was well spent...

_... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...Christmas in my soul... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ..._

_Come young braves  
Come young children  
Come to the book of love with me  
Respect your brothers and your sisters  
Come to the book of love  
I know it ain't easy  
But we're gonna look for a better day  
Come young braves  
Come young children.  
**  
Christmas in my soul...  
Christmas in my soul...  
Christmas in my soul...**_

_**Joy to this World...**_

_**Laura Nyro, 1947-1997**  
_

_... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...Christmas in my soul... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...  
_

Merry Christmas and All Holiday Cheer, everyone... **_S_**


End file.
